Manhattan Mogul: A New York City Romance

by Tara Leigh

  He tastes even better than champagne.

  A drumbeat of desire dances up my spine, sending electric currents shooting along every limb. My toes curl inside the tips of my sneakers and I wrap my arms around Nash’s neck, my empty glass loose within my fingers. My breasts are heavy and aching, desperate for Nash’s touch. Places I never knew I had throb with heat.

  I moan, low in my throat. Wishing we were somewhere more private. Somewhere alone. Eva might be sleeping but I can still hear Madison’s chatter and Parker’s solemn, serious questions. The pilot and co-pilot’s answers, the stewardess’s comments. They’re background noise, though. Nash is definitely the headliner.

  I wonder—if we kissed like this in a bar, instead of a plane, would Nash bring me back to his place? And if he did, would he make me pancakes again? Or, having gotten what he wanted, would I not be worth the effort anymore?

  So many questions run through my mind, I feel like Nash’s precocious niece. I finally find the strength to pull away, but only slightly, my forehead pressing against Nash’s, our panting breaths mingling between our mouths.

  “Would we be bad babysitters if we escaped to the bedroom at the back of the plane?” Nash’s voice is rough, like it’s traveled over a long stretch of gravel. And his question is different, more practical, than any of mine.

  “There’s a bed on this plane?”

  I shouldn’t be surprised. The main cabin feels like a luxurious living room. Oversized chairs, upholstered in fine-grained leather the color of fresh cream, are grouped in pairs or foursomes. Every few feet, windows dot the walls like strategically placed artwork, framing a bright blue sky and fluffy cumulus clouds.

  There are no overhead compartments, only lacquered wood accents, attractive molding, and the warm glow of halogen lights. At my feet, the carpet is a subdued gray, threaded with gold chevron stripes.

  Wealth whispers reassuringly from every corner.

  “Not as big as the one in my apartment, but it’ll do.”

  Tempting. So tempting. “What about Madison and Parker?”

  He casts an eye toward the cockpit. “They’re completely occupied.”

  I glance over at Eva, her enormous leather chair reclined, an eye mask covering half her face, her body beneath a cashmere blanket. Knowing the history she and Nash share, I expected to feel the same vague animosity toward her today as the night she walked through the door of the ice cream shop. Worse, even, because she’s the woman who broke Nash’s heart, made him afraid of getting burned again. I want to hate her for that, actually.

  But I can’t. Eva is nice, and kind. There’s an easygoing confidence about her that makes me want to be her friend. Chatting with her in the car on the way to the airport, watching her dote not just on her children, but on Nash and Jay, it’s impossible not to like her. And I want her to like me, too.

  I definitely don’t want Eva to wake up and catch me making out with Nash like a trampy teenager he snuck in through the back door.

  My rational instincts breach the haze of lust enveloping me and I pull away, severing our connection. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Proving my point, Madison comes bounding back toward us, a cookie as big as her head clasped in her tiny fingers. “Uncle Nash, look—pink sprinkles!”

  The sprinkles are indeed pink, and shedding all over the pristine carpet. I want to drop to my knees and pick them up before they’re ground into neon dust beneath Madison’s shoes, but Nash just reaches for his niece and pulls her into his lap. “Is Parker eating a pink sprinkle cookie, too?”

  “No, they have a blue one for him, but he asked for plain instead.”

  “Thank you for lending me your beautiful tiara, Madison,” I say, gently removing it. “I’m feeling much better now.”

  She gives me a cookie-crumbed smile and regally inclines her head toward me so that I can affix the combs to her dark curls. When I’m done, she lifts a hand to check that it’s in place and levels a serious gaze at Nash. “I have to go back to the cockpit now, but if your friend gets scared again, what will you give her?”

  Nash purses his lips, a wicked gleam in his eye. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

  Madison hops off his lap, hesitating for just a moment. “She’s a girl, she likes sparkles.”

  “I don’t have anything that sparkles as much as your tiara. But how about hugs and kisses? Will those work?”

  I choke on a sharp inhale, my eyes flying open so widely I can feel the tips of my lashes brush my lids. “Nash,” I wheeze a warning.

  Madison isn’t perturbed in the slightest, her mouth pulling into an even bigger grin than before. “That’s a great idea, Uncle Nash. Girls like those.”

  She skips off and Nash turns to me. “Out of the mouths of babes, right?”

  My face is hot, and probably as pink as Madison’s cookie. “That was all your suggestion, not hers.”

  “It got her royal endorsement though.”

  I shake my head. “You’re incorrigible.” He is, much like a four-year-old.

  “Maybe. So, are you still scared?”

  A hollow laugh vibrates through my chest. “Uh, yeah. Of you.”

  “Me?” Nash’s look of bewilderment is almost comical.

  “Yes.” More than you’ll ever know.

  Chapter 15

  Nash

  They say you learn something new every day.

  Today I learned that there are few things on earth more enjoyable than rubbing creamy coconut sunscreen (which she didn’t forget, after all) into Nixie’s perfect skin.

  Of course, once every inch of her body was glistening, and the sunscreen back in her bag, we were pushed apart by preschoolers. Madison insisted on braving the ocean with me, while Parker asked Nixie for her help building a sandcastle.

  Nixie is great with the twins. She doesn’t talk down to them, doesn’t treat them like a nuisance. She has a way of being present, completely in the moment, neither intrusive nor indifferent.

  The kids enjoy being around her, and so do I. And even though my thoughts aren’t exactly PG, not all of them involve getting inside her bikini bottoms. Almost, but not quite all.

  The sight of Nixie in a bikini is . . . Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing the ocean is cold. But even if she was covered from head to toe, I wouldn’t care. I’m just glad she’s here. In Bermuda. And on the beach.

  She could have gone into town with Eva, Celeste, and Reina for something they called retail therapy, but she opted to join us instead.

  “What do you say, Maddie—want to go check out your brother’s sandcastle, maybe help them build a moat?”

  She holds up a tiny finger. “But first, one more wave.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Princess Madison.”

  Five waves later, my niece’s excited, happy squeals still ringing in my ears, we emerge from the surf and stagger toward Nixie and Parker’s elaborate sandcastle. “Help has arrived,” I announce.

  Nixie delivers her sarcasm with a smile. “Oh, good. We were having a rough go of it over here. Right, Parker?”

  “She’s a good builder, Uncle Nash. Even better than you.”

  I feign hurt. “Even better than me?”

  Incapable of even the whitest lie, Parker looks away, busying himself filling another plastic bucket with sand.

  Madison takes advantage of the break in conversation, proudly holding up her hands, palms facing out. “Look—I got brinkles!”

  Nixie’s gorgeous eyes are covered by a pair of Ray Bans, but I see her brows knit together in a confused frown above the darkened lenses. Duplicating Madison’s gesture, I add, “We were in the water for so long, we have prunes for fingerprints.”

  “Ah.” Nixie nods in understanding. “Are they too wrinkled to dig a moat?”

  “No!” Madison squeals, dropping to Nixie’s side and plunging her tiny hands into the wet sand.

  An hour later, their entire sand city is surrounded by an impressively deep moat, and the two
four-year-olds can barely keep their eyes open. I look at my watch. “I’m thinking we should bring them both back to the house for a nap before they face-plant in the sand.”

  Parker turns drooping eyes to me. “We’re not babies anymore, Uncle Nash. We don’t nap.”

  “When you go to sleep too late and you wake up early—”

  Madison’s little body vibrates with exhaustion and anger. “I don’t wanna nap,” she screeches.

  Nixie jumps to her feet and pulls Madison into her arms. “No, of course not,” she croons in a soothing tone. “How about a rest, okay? Even big kids need to take a little rest after building the best sandcastle on the whole beach.”

  Nixie begins walking back toward the house and I immediately pick up Parker and fall into step behind her. By the time we reach the back door of the Van Horne’s impressive estate, both kids are sound asleep, their heads heavy on our shoulders.

  We make our way up the stairs to where Madison and Parker share a room adjoining Eva’s and slip them beneath the sheets of two single beds. Grabbing the monitor from Eva’s nightstand, I close the door to their room and join Nixie in the hall. The comfort that sprung up between us as we took care of the kids together collapses. A sandcastle washed away by a rising tide.

  “So . . .” I begin.

  Nixie pushes her sunglasses atop her head. “Are you going to compare yourself to Derrick again? Or tell me that your intentions aren’t good enough?”

  Her tone is light, teasing, but there’s an edge to her words that’s impossible to miss. “Nixie, I—”

  When I pause, she leans back against the wall, her skin glowing from sunshine and salty ocean air. “Has anything changed since we were in New York? Are you willing to give a little more or am I supposed to settle for less?”

  Something inside my brain clicks into place. “Don’t ever settle, Nixie.”

  “Then why are you?”

  I have my reasons, but right now I can’t think of a single one. “I can’t make any promises to you, Nixie. This is all new to me.”

  “I won’t ask for anything you’re not willing to give.” Nixie is quoting my own words back at me and it makes me want to swallow her whole.

  “You’re one hell of a negotiator.” My voice is gruff as I lift her into my arms, one at her back and the other beneath her knees.

  Nixie gives a quick gasp. “I learned from the best.”

  I walk down the hall and into my room, pushing the door closed with the heel of my foot. Stopping short of throwing Nixie on the bed and ravaging her like the caveman inside of me, pounding against my ribcage, I press my back against the door. Fire shines from Nixie’s wind-blown hair, her amber eyes blazing with heat as if she swallowed the sun itself.

  So damned beautiful.

  Ripples of need course between us, oxygen expanding with uncertainty, with risk. “You want this,” I state plainly, not entirely sure Nixie will agree, not knowing what I’ll do if she doesn’t.

  “Yes,” she whispers, the single word less a declaration than a white flag of surrender. Whatever it is, whatever she means, I’ll take it.

  I stalk to the center of the room and lay her gently across the bed, a carved mahogany post rising from each corner. Her skin glistens from sunscreen, bits of sand clinging to her curves like diamonds. I don’t blame them. But it’s her soft pink tongue, slipping between her lips, darting from one corner of her mouth to the other, that’s my undoing.

  “Nixie,” I growl, setting one knee on either side of her taut thighs and splaying my palms over her narrow abdomen, fingers curving around her waist, my thumbs just below the shallow well of her belly button. “You’re shaking,” I say, stating the obvious. Her body is vibrating beneath my hands, like a race car warming up.

  She bites her lower lip, another tremor shaking her slight frame. “I know. Nerves, I guess.”

  I slide my hands from Nixie’s waist to her ribcage, the curved bones so delicate beneath my fingers, the wild thumping of her heart pulsing against my palm. Running my thumbs along the coral band beneath the twin triangles tied at her neck, I make a silent promise to take things slow, keep my lust in check. Every woman I’ve ever been with has somehow led me here, to Nixie. I don’t deserve her, and I’ll be damned if I disappoint her. “You don’t have to be nervous with me, Nixie. Ever.”

  “I know.” Suddenly her hands fly to her face, covering her eyes. “It’s just been a while . . . and I’ve only been with one person, and—”

  Gently, I pry Nixie’s hands away, bringing them to my mouth and kissing her knuckles. “Hey, we’ll do this at your pace. And the only thing I want is for you to feel good. That’s all.” I turn her arms over, exposing fragile wrists with a delicate spider web of blue veins running beneath the skin. I press my lips to them, swirling my tongue along her pulse points.

  Nixie sucks in a quick breath, another shiver vibrating through her. “That feels good,” she whispers, the undertone of awe in her voice sending a surge of heat racing through my body, blistering the skin at the back of my neck. I nibble the tender skin from Nixie’s wrist to the crook of her elbow, taking my time, tasting every inch. Her skin is naturally sweet, the sunscreen adding a hint of coconut. If she was holding an umbrella, she’d make a mean piña colada.

  Topaz eyes smolder like a barely banked fire. I want to throw another log on, and then a gallon of gasoline, too, just to see how bright I can get them. Sliding my palms along her arms, I pull at the string tied at her neck. It comes loose in my hands and I keep at it, the triangles peeling from Nixie’s breasts, exposing pale pink nipples crowning perfect, teardrop-shaped mounds. Beneath the intensity of my stare, they pebble, darkening slightly.

  I don’t want to breathe, don’t want to move, but my gaze is pulled back to Nixie’s face. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Nixie. Do you even know what you do to me?” The admission is wrenched from my throat, emerging as a strangled rasp.

  Her mouth opens, pink tongue peeking out again. “Show me,” she says.

  I take the request as a challenge. I’ll show her, all right. Show her so much that tonight will erase the memory of the only man to come before me. There’s an edge of fury to the lust simmering in my veins. A possessiveness I’ve never felt for anyone before. I hate that another man has seen Nixie like this, touched her in places I’m just now being given access to. Another man planted his flag and then hurt her, and I want to snap him, and his damn flag, in half.

  But that will have to wait. For now, I wind the string around the back of my hand, over and over until her bikini top lifts and I lob it across the room.

  I bring my hands to Nixie’s face, my breath catching in the back of my throat as I trace her high cheekbones, delicately arched brows, the slight ski-jump of her nose. My fingers thread into her thick hair and I finally allow myself to sample her lips, my tongue running between the seam until they part, inviting my exploration.

  She moans, and I swallow the sound, feed on it. “Fucking perfect,” I mumble.

  Nixie’s mouth lifts into a smile, a soft laugh escaping. “No one’s perfect.”

  “Then you’ve never looked in a mirror.” She stills beneath me, her hands sliding to my shoulders. I pull back, trying to read the questions swirling in her eyes. “What?”

  “I just want to know, is this—” She stutters, stops. Starts again. “Do you say that to all the girls you take to bed? Because if you do, it’s fine.” Tears well up, barely contained by the thick fringe of her lashes. “I’d just rather you didn’t say them to me, that’s all.”

  Is that what Nixie thinks? That this is some kind of pre-scripted routine for me? That other women affect me the same way she does? Jesus.

  I sit back on my heels, the backs of my thighs sliding against the tops of hers, running ragged hands through my hair, pulling at the back of my neck and blowing out a heavy breath. “Nixie, I swear to you—nothing I’ve ever said to you, nothing I’ve ever thought about you, nothing I’ve ever wanted to do to you—bears even
the slightest similarity to anything I’ve ever said or thought or wanted before. With anyone. This is new territory for me.”

  She sniffs, skepticism reflected in her taut brows as she sinks her top teeth into the pinkness of her bottom lip. “Really?”

  “Really. But if you don’t believe me, I don’t want to go any further. Not if I make you feel like a one-night stand I picked up at a dive bar.”

  Nixie tilts her head, lips twitching as she looks up at me from the corner of her eye. “You wouldn’t be caught dead in a dive bar.”

  “And you and I both know this isn’t a one-night stand.”

  “Then what is it, exactly?” she asks. “Am I a fling? Because I don’t even know what that means.”

  “Do we need a label?”

  “No.” And the she shakes her head, confusion written all over her face. “Maybe?”

  I take her by her shoulders. “What is it you really want to know?”

  A few beats pass. “When we go back to New York, will this ever happen again?”

  “That’s up to you, Nixie. But I hope to hell it will.”

  “Where? The hotel?”

  Understanding is finally breaking through my lust-addled brain. “Anywhere you want. My place, your place, the Central Park Zoo. Wherever you let me.”

  Nixie

  Nash runs a hand through the thick hair at his scalp, giving the short strands a sexy, mussed look only Abercrombie models can carry off. And Nash Knight—too well. His eyes are dark with desire, and I can picture him as a surly teen, fighting off busty cheerleaders more often than opponents at the boxing gym. Although if teenaged Nash is anything like thirty-something Nash, he probably didn’t resist very much.